#soft smiles

His gaze shifted to Draco, who sat beside him, a radiant smile gracing his features—soft, almost tender in its gentleness. It was a look that seemed to carry with it a thousand unspoken words, each one more comforting than the last.

“Careful,” Draco teased, his voice smooth as satin, the kind of velvety tone that could easily melt even the iciest of hearts. With a playful flick of his wrist, he pushed a steaming mug of hot chocolate into Harry's hands, the aroma rich with chocolate and marshmallows, the steam rising gracefully in delicate tendrils that seemed to dance through the air. “Wouldn’t want you to burn yourself, Potter.”

Harry accepted the mug, feeling the warmth radiate through the ceramic and into his cold fingers. But it was not just the heat of the drink that set his nerves alight; it was the brief brush of Draco’s fingers against his, a fleeting moment that lingered far longer than it should have. If it hadn’t been for the subtle, knowing glint in Draco’s eyes, one might have chalked it up to mere coincidence. But this was no accident.

"You’ve got something on your lip," Draco murmured, leaning in closer than necessary—a boldness that made Harry's breath hitch. He felt the heat of Draco's breath against his skin, warm and inviting. Draco’s thumb glided lightly over Harry’s lower lip, brushing away a stray dollop of whipped cream that had escaped his earlier indulgence. The simple, soft caress sent a jolt through Harry, his heart racing in response.

Harry swallowed hard, the sensation of Draco's touch reverberating through him. It was a seemingly insignificant action, yet it was charged with an electricity that made it impossible to ignore. The way Draco's hand lingered, tracing the contours of his skin as though mapping a precious treasure, held a power that left Harry unsettled, yet yearning for more. He tightened his grip around the mug, trying to ground himself in the moment, yet deep down he knew that the distraction would prove futile. Not tonight.

Without hesitation, Draco's hand slid down to rest atop Harry's own, his fingers curling possessively around Harry's. The warmth emanating from Draco was markedly different from the chill outside—comforting, igniting a flame that seemed to seep through Harry's very being. As Draco's grip intensified, Harry felt his pulse race in response to the overwhelming sensation, the connection sizzling between them like the crackle of the fire.

"You look good like this, Potter," Draco said, his voice low and intense, his eyes darkening with an emotion that sent shivers cascading down Harry’s spine. "Warm. Safe. But you’re still mine."

Those words hung in the air like a spell woven with intimacy, sending another shiver coursing through Harry. He found himself instinctively leaning into Draco’s touch, unable to resist the pull between them, the magnetic force that drew his breath into a sharp hitch as their eyes locked. In that moment, everything else faded into the background—the storm outside, the world beyond those walls—leaving only the two of them, cocooned in their own sphere of warmth and connection.